


There’s a battle ahead (many battles are lost)

by shield_maiden



Series: Harringrove [9]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon typical child abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: Billy starts dating Stacy.Suddenly he was untethered again, drifting aimlessly downwards.The downwards drifting became falling again, and the falling became spiralling, and part of him couldn’t wait for the fiery collision with rock bottom that he knew was coming.





	There’s a battle ahead (many battles are lost)

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!!!! TW: FOR SELF HARM !!!!!!!  
>  Please use discretion while reading this work if this bothers you.
> 
> Title is from ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ by Crowded House.
> 
> Oops this took me months longer than expected to complete (thanks a lot, life.) but here it is!

Billy starts dating Stacy. 

And Steve vividly remembers the way his stomach dropped into his shoes when he found out.

Suddenly he was untethered again, drifting aimlessly downwards. 

It probably said something bad about who he was as a person, the fact that he derived stability from other people, that he couldn’t be stable and happy and normal in himself.

The downwards drifting became falling again, and the falling became spiralling, and part of him couldn’t wait for the fiery collision with rock bottom that he knew was coming.

It came on a Thursday night.  
———————————————

He was alone in his house again, so pathetically, achingly alone. Nancy was at the Byers house, Dustin was at Mikes. And Steve was alone. He rolled into a sitting position and padded into his bathroom, avoiding looking in the mirror as he turned the tap and cupped his hands underneath the faucet to drink deeply. He didn’t like looking at himself for too long these days, something about his reflection made his stomach twist sharply, and it was easier to keep the self destructive thoughts mostly at bay. But tonight was different. He slowly lifted his head and shut off the water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The face in the mirror looked strange, like it was his but not his at the same time. 

Everything felt kind of fuzzy and slow. The shadows seemed to leech towards him, and he shuddered. The snarls of demodogs ring in his ears but when he turns, wide eyed and clutching at the sink behind him, there’s nothing there except his pile of dirty laundry. Steve feels like he’s losing touch with reality, everything around him has this kind of unreal shapelessness in the dark. He pinches himself, and the dull pain helps for a second cutting through the haze, but it’s not enough.

He can’t exactly remember what happened after that, all he knows is that when he comes back to himself he’s sitting under the small window staring at the tiny rectangle of moonlight on the floor, a razor blade on the floor beside him where it fell from his fingers, and the smell of blood in the air. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s his own blood, that it’s trickling slowly down his arm from two cuts on the inside of his bicep. They’re not too deep, but they hurt and he knows that the pain of them is what makes it easier to focus and feel grounded. The same way Billy’s long fingers wrapping around his throat used to make him feel. 

Away from the brink now, with his own blood soaking into the sleeve of his shirt and carving a slow path down his arm, all he feels is shame and disgust burning white hot inside himself. 

He cleans himself up as best he can, gritting his teeth against the sting of the antiseptic, covering the cuts with a piece of gauze with a plastic backing that crinkles every time he moves his arm. He soaks his shirt in cold water, a laundry lesson from Nancy that he finds he has a lot of use for these days.

He doesn’t try to sleep, even though physically he feels utterly exhausted and drained in a way he’s pretty sure he’s never felt before, he’s done had enough nights like these to know it will only end in terror and a tangle of sweat soaked sheets. But the house feels both too big and too small all at once and he paces around until finally his growing claustrophobia wins out and he dresses quickly in his jeans and a sweater, carefully easing the knitted fabric over his arm. Downstairs he pockets his keys and shrugs into his coat and shoes.

It’s cold outside and he takes a deep breath as the door clicks shut behind him, letting the frigid air fill his lungs. It helps. 

He doesn’t have a destination in mind, not really, he just needs to be somewhere other than the house that feels somehow both cavernous in its emptiness but stifling at the same time. He walks along the side of the road, hands shoved in his pockets. The tape on the gauze pulls underneath his sweater.

He keeps walking. Past the houses, some are dark and as empty looking as his own, but Steve knows that inside people, families, sleep peacefully. He wishes he could trade places with one of them. Some still emit a warm yellow glow, it spills from open windows or between chinks in curtains, and he wonders what could possibly cause anyone who hasn’t seen a Demogorgon with their own two eyes to be unable to sleep at night.

Eventually he finds himself on the edge of a children’s playground, tucked safely between slumbering houses. The swing set is what catches his eye first and he heads in that direction, planning to just sit and try to gather himself enough to go home. 

He’s half way there when he becomes aware of the figure lying starfished on the grass, head raised and glaring at him and Steve stops in his tracks. It’s Billy. He has a cigarette and a bottle wrapped in brown paper in one hand, his shirt still half unbuttoned despite the cold. He gets close enough to see the bruising on his ex-whatever’s face, an ugly blackish purple halo over his cheekbone, and feels his own eyes widen as something stirs in his chest. 

Billy flashes his teeth at him, maybe it’s a smirk or maybe it’s a snarl, and takes a drink from the bottle. When the blonde lowers it again he looks almost bored, but his nostrils flare and he finally speaks.

“Problem, Harrington?” It’s cocky and dangerously sharp, like Billy himself. It’s a challenge, Steve notes, and he really can’t deal with Billy and his mind games right now. Not tonight, as much as part of him wants to talk to the other teen, ask him all the questions that nagged him from the depths of his mind. So he does the cowardly thing, and turns around and walks away.

——————————————————————  
The halls are buzzing the next morning with talk of Liz throwing a bonfire party in the woods the next night, and Steve’s sleep deprived brain somehow absorbs that information instead of the chapters they’re set for homework in calculus. (This will probably come back to bite him later, but he finds that he doesn’t really care.)

Under his polo shirt and the dressing the cuts itch faintly. 

He’d taken great care to make sure the stark white rectangle of gauze was hidden. Trimming and sticking it down just so. He keeps his jacket on even though it’s warm enough to go without it inside. He’s almost too paranoid about people (Mostly Nancy) knowing how low he’s sunk and what he’s hiding to be worried about Billy. Almost.

They have Econ together, as they have since Billy and his Camaro roared into town and fucked Steve’s life up even more than it already had been, and the entire lesson he feels someone watching him. It’s somehow more annoying than the persistent itch from under his sleeve that he has to remind himself not to scratch. He knows it’s Billy, and part of him wants to flip him off and tell him to go fuck himself. But Billy would probably like that, so he doesn’t. He just keeps his head down and actually manages to pay attention this time.

At lunch he allows himself to be buffered by Nancy and Jonathan, let’s them distract him from the way Stacy has literally glued herself to Billy. It’s almost like old times, if he ignores the fact that Nancy is holding Jonathan’s hand beneath the table and not his own. He wants to be angry at them, but he can’t, not when he sees how happy they look together. It’s almost cute, watching the way they smile shyly at each other and Steve wonders if he’ll ever have that again.

His gaze is drawn to Billy across the cafeteria; almost against his will. He looks the opposite of happy, seated next to Stacy with a deep scowl on his face. Steve isn’t sure he’s ever seen him look so unhappy. 

——————————————————

It plagues him for the rest of the day, the image of those deep creases between Billy’s brows and the way his lips turned down at the corners. He wonders why Billy would date something who seems to make him so unhappy. But, Steve reasons with himself, Billy hadn’t exactly seemed happy when they were fucking or whatever, and maybe he’s just not a happy person, but he’d never seemed this unhappy. He must be a real bleeding heart, Steve thinks, if he’s this concerned about someone who doesn’t seem to give a fuck about him. 

In chem class the topic of Liz’s party comes up again and Steve wonders if Billy will be there. If he is then maybe they could just talk about whatever the fuck this was. It would be risky, in such a public place, but the loud music and the seemingly large number of people that will be there too might just give them some cover. Steve knows he must be crazy, wanting to talk to Billy Hargrove, but if his endless nights awake have given him anything, it’s given him a lot of time to think and somewhere between two and five he’d come to the conclusion that he’d like some kind of closure. Even Nancy had been kind enough to give him that. 

——————————————————————

He doesn’t exactly plan to be leaning against the Camaro’s driver side door when Billy stalks towards him across the parking lot, but he is. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, planting his feet the way Billy was always telling him to do on the courts. Even from this distance he can tell that the blonde is seething with rage. 

 

“Don’t you have your own car to lean on?” Billy spits when he finally reaches him. “Because I’ve gotta go.”

Steve is somewhat taken aback by just how incredibly angry he sounds , but he shrugs trying to look casual as he crosses his arms over his chest. It takes a remarkable amount of courage to open his mouth and speak, far more than any fight with monsters from alternate dimensions, but he forces himself to do it and hopes he sounds normal. “I just thought we should talk.” 

“Yeah?” Billy runs a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Talk about what princess? The fact that you’re being a giant pain in my ass? The fact that I need to pick up Max if I don’t want shit from my dad?”

Steve feels himself stiffen subconsciously, the movement giving the blonde enough room to at least unlock the car door. That explains the bruises staining the high cheekbones and the split lip and probably the public drunkenness too. It might explain everything. Including the way Billy is looking at anything but him right now. Steve bites at the inside of his lip, choosing his next words carefully.

“Okay, fine. Liz is having some party tomorrow night. A bonfire in the woods.” Billy glances at him, and Steve can almost see the wheels turning inside his head. He licks his lips nervously, and the way the blondes eyes flick down to watch the motion ignites a tiny spark of hope somewhere in Steve’s chest.

“No shit.” And just like that the moment is broken, Billy is watching him sharply, waiting for him to continue

“Be there.” Is all he says, moving away from the Camaro and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. As he walks away he can feel Billy watching him again, and for once it actually feels good.

**Author's Note:**

> As per, I live for comments/constructive criticism/kudos/love. And I can be found on tumblr @crimson—petrichor where I take prompts :D


End file.
